


Piano Concerto in A Major

by Umberon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Music, Original work - Freeform, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 13:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13054923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umberon/pseuds/Umberon
Summary: Music is precious and unique to who you are. It describes you, your experiences, your talents.But there is a war going on, and music is something you don't want to possess.





	1. Piano Concerto in A Major

Twelve years ago, things were different.

You wouldn't be judged, you wouldn't be bullied, or ostracized, for your harmony or your bassline.

It didn't matter if the snare was a little off.

The tics and out of time high-hat notes and too sharp tuba _legatos _were all just little things, experiences and battles that you'd survived, and they were good. You could go outside without the protesters fighting in the middle of the streets, screams and hatred filling the air, sounds gone sour. Music used to be all about being you, being who you were, being proud.__

__Now, it had to be perfect._ _

__A wrong note could get you thrown out of a restaurant, key too sharp or too flat meant maybe that day the food wouldn't arrive from the grocery delivery service. A change of timing could get you mugged; your unfinished solo only ending with a knife wound and large hospital bill. If your music didn't stay together, you were ostracised. Notes off the beat, tune sounded funny, exotic instruments, anything at all really, and you're beaten up and maybe even jailed. The state of society was beginning to get pretty desperate by the time I was born._ _

__I grew up pretty normal. I had an above average amount of limbs and two parents. I did pretty well in school (although I wasn't a straight A student). Had a pretty average amount of friends, who were all the same as me in all the things that mattered. I was told my music was pretty average too, which I couldn't help but be a little disappointed about. Even with all the fuss about it as I grew up (John, if you can't get that oboe under control, I'm afraid this school can't take you), I still heard tales about reformed misbeats that saved hundreds of trapped citizens in the war, or single-handedly beat down protests with inspiring and hopeful speeches. There was something dangerously appealing about those with offbeat music, and well… I was just average. Well, I thought to myself around age 12, here's to a life of dreary normality. I'll find a partner, maybe have kids, get a job that, while paying for the cost of living, will probably also be incredibly boring. Desk job probably, that's what most ¾'s get. But at least I was happy, or as happy as I could be, anyway._ _

__I was about 18 when things began to get worse. The ongoing war between Mariachi and Blues was escalating with no sign of stopping. No one predicted that Mariachi would decide to bomb half of Blues almost to dust, or that Blues would respond with a discord raze. Chamber was building numerous ships and probably guns and Hardcore Rock was responding in kind. Whispers of bigger and better weapons snuck out of the two countries on a basically hourly basis. No one knew what was truth, and no one knew what was fiction. Rock denied that it had any involvement with Hardcore Rock's arms race and had apparently vanished off the face of the Earth. Punk was still struggling to scrape together two cents, as was pretty much usual. I, in the meantime, was trying to get my driver's license. And failing. Badly._ _

__'You realise that was a red light.'_ _

__'Uh… yeah.'_ _

__Tires were squealing, I was going 70 and there were ten cars behind me honking as loud as they could. My assessor seemed to be a pretty friendly guy, musically, but driving through three consecutive red lights and missing the give way sign three klicks back didn't seem to soften his assesment. I yanked the wheel left and pulled over into a parking space, nearly hitting a car and stopping only a couple centimetres away from the bumper of the car in front of me. The assessor took a deep breath and met my gaze, steeling his eyes as he looked at my awkwardly stressed face._ _

__'Three red lights, a give way sign, two broken reflectors, a bent bumper, pulled over by the police… do you want me to continue?'_ _

__It definitely had not been my day._ _

__Interestingly enough, that was the day that all hell broke loose up north. Mariachi had spontaneously invaded the top of Theme in order to sneak up on Blues' western border, without alerting Theme. Of course, it was pretty much just a huge dick move, designed to drag Theme into the war. It worked. The army was being mobilised as fast as humanly possible, citizens were being warned that there could be armed and dangerous Mariachi soldiers in the country, and that was that. Instant terror._ _

__A year later I had a knock or three on my door. I had come down with the shittiest version of the 'flu imaginable a couple days back, but I answered anyway, with a dripping nose and screaming muscles. It was the army. Come to recruit. 'Your country needs you' and all that shit. But as much as I wanted to lie, they knew I was over 18. Can't beat your unmuteable music for telling basic information. I was told to get to the nearest military base for sign up and that was that. Government incentives be damned, I'd just been conscripted._ _

__They wanted me in tanks. I refused. My driver's test had shown me enough. Tanks were meant to be backup, not friendly fire._ _

__They only gave us two months of intensive training, and then we were shipped to the front lines. Only as a figure of speech, since there was shit all water in between the war and us. I had eventually been placed in Fifth Discord Battalion, which specialised in messing with the enemies' musical harmony in order to throw them off. They mostly used discord launchers, guns the size of a rifle but a bit more bulky, to launch the little spheres anywhere from 600-1000 metres away. The things sent a blast of sound five hundred metres around it. Hurt like a bitch when you got hit, and left tinnitus effects for hours. I always felt like an asshole, messing with others' music, even if they were the assholes that invaded us. They hadn't hurt me personally and they were all people too. But it was my job, the government and my commanding officers were watching, and shame on those who show cowardice. And yeah, I did my job for a year, until things just got even worse._ _

__Our unit was captured. We had thrown some less effective hand grenades in a close range scuffle and one of them had hit us. We were down for the count and no way around it._ _

__Put on trial for war crimes and inhumane treatment of human beings. In Mariachi of course. Those bastards were using discord too, so I didn't see what laws of theirs we were breaking, but the damn government didn't pull us out of there with a money prize or anything._ _

__My unit was put to death. Those fucking assholes decided there was nothing for us but to kill us all, what with us unable to fight back anymore and posing as much threat as two fruits and five vegetables a day._ _

__They let me go free, to spread the word of their choice. I was the only one left alive, and by the skin of my teeth at that._ _

__Even then, it was kill or be killed. It's not like they'd supply me with a safe way home._ _


	2. A melodic minor scale

__

Some people are born with an anacrusis. They end with one less beat.

/i>

F# G# 

A melodic minor scale

6/8 | 4/4 | 2/2 | 1/2 | 2/4

Six days ago, I had finally returned from the Mariachi jail complex that I had been trapped in for a year. The Mariachans were shrouded in secrecy for a reason, and that was because everything was only shared on a need to know basis. News of my unit's death travelled with me. I had had no idea of the state of Theme at the time of my return, and travelled nervously. At any time the various forms of transport I had been given could be attacked by either Mariachan or Thematic soldiers, and I had had more than enough of gunfire and blood. When I returned to the capital of Theme, Glissando, the government was waiting for me, with a distinct lack of welcome. I was bustled into an official car and taken off to the government bunkers straight away. When there, I was basically interrogated for information on the Mariachi command structure and war intentions, but I had nothing to tell them. I only really knew how to operate a Discord launcher and I could tell them the precise dimensions of my cell, but how was I to know what a Mariachan Seargent-General was meant to look like? The officials were disappointed, I was exhausted, and they relieved me of duty two days later. An honourable discharge, which apparently meant the nearest hotel. Which was in Berceuse, 1400 klicks from home.

I picked up the lost sock from under the crappy hotel bed. That was all my stuff found; finally I could leave the hotel and head home. I dumped the sock in my suitcase and sat on the bed, which creaked in complaint. My old housemate Will was happy to let me come back for a while until I could get a job, and then we would sort things out from there. I wasn't sure how easy it would be to get used to being able to relax and get a normal job again, after all the things that had happened in the last two years. I supposed I would just have to see.

I checked my battered old watch for the time. It was 8:25, which left a nice amount of time for me to get to the train station for the 9am train. I hauled myself off the bed, picked up my suitcase and made my way down to reception. The grizzled old receptionist came into view as I approached.

'What can I get you?' he asked, voice muffled by the glass screen, and the fact he was looking at a crossword instead of me. I reached into my pocket for the room key and a few crumpled notes, which he took.

'It's impromptu,' I said, and he looked up in surprise before scribbling the word into its place in the crossword.

'I hope you enjoyed your stay,' he said, sounding fully aware of the state of the hotel as I walked onto the streets. The sound of people filled my ears once again, a strange mix of all the different people living in Berceuse. The electronic and occasionally orchestral mixes of the kids and adults moving through the city was incredible after gunfire and silence. I smiled. Thank god I was back.

 

I had always wondered how the many different timings and pitches of individual music never clashed with society. If you walked through the street it would be an unreproducible harmony of incredible proportions. There was nothing like it. Perhaps it was the effect of society on children. You could hear a 6/8 and a 12/4 talking, but the duet never sounded grating. Perhaps your music subtly changed when you were around different people, or everyone was stuck in this rut where there wasn't any great musical difference anymore. You grew up trying to fit in, and perhaps your music reflected that. Being a 3/4 didn't make it too difficult for me to stay in time with others, but it must be difficult for people who were 10/2 or 12/6 to match themselves up, even subconsciously, as a child. Just a natural mystery, I suppose.

I arrived at the station ten minutes early for the train, so I bought my ticket and took a seat on one of the platform benches, suitcase neatly placed beneath. My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I picked it up. It was a text from Will.

 _ETA_ was all it said. I typed back, _10pm_ , and put my phone away again. I wasn't really one for essay texts. A distant whistle signalled the train's imminent arrival, so I stood, holding my bag on the edge of the platform. The crowd began to jostle as last minute passengers rushed onto the platform, before hurriedly boarding the train.

 

The train arrived exactly on time, whistling steam from the wheels as we slowed to a halt at the platform. I dragged my bag off and began searching music for Will, until I heard a cry.

'Good to see you again,' Will greeted me with a grin, calloused hand extended. I completed the gesture, and walked beside him as we left the platform.

'We heard the news,' he said. 'Everyone was terrified that you were dead. The lack of information was the worst thing, I think.'

'I'll make sure they know to improve their personal correspondence in the next war,' I said drily. 'I don't think the government knew either. The Mariachans don't really let information out.'

I ended it on a final note. Will glanced at me.

'Sorry,' he said, leading me into the dimly lit car park. We searched for his ute for a bit, and when we finally found it I tied my suitcase into the tray.

'Jump in,' he invited, and I got into the passenger seat. It was dark, but the changes to the town were obvious. There were more trees, more lights, a radio tower and everything seemed more crowded. Tense. But it was mesmerising to see the fields again. Canola was growing well and the wheat definitely was booming. If the war came here, everyone would be okay for a while, at least.

'So, uh… when did you get back?' Will asked. His driving skills were at least twelve times better than mine. By which I mean he hadn't driven off the road yet.

'Tuesday, unless you mean when I was released into the public. That was about Friday.'

'Oh.'

I left the conversation before he could delve deeper, and went to sleep. I slept for the rest of the drive.

 

I woke up suddenly, feeling like I'd just woken up from a nightmare. Which I probably had, but I couldn't remember anything. Looking around, which was difficult because my face was mushed into a solid surface, apparently I had slept on the floor. That explained the face thing. I could see my clothes scattered around, on the bed, hanging off the cupboard, thrown over the door… I was almost impressed, except I was too confused. What the hell had I been doing when I got here? I stood up and began gathering the clothes, putting them into an untidy pile in the corner. The room was pretty bare, just the bed, the cupboard and a little desk. It was my old room. I was at Will's. It was now that a splitting headache decided to make itself known. So. Order one, find Will and the Panadol. Order two, get some breakfast.

Will was waiting in the kitchen, eating his own breakfast of scrambled eggs and gin. I decided not to question his culinary choices at that time, and just ask for the location of the needed items. He vaguely gestured towards the various cupboards next to the sink, so that's where I went. Inside were some loaves of bread, spreads, snacks and thankfully, painkillers. I grabbed a random assortment of foods and a couple pills and began eating. Toast with cheese. Well done Will.

'I'm going out to get the vet. Some of the sheep are acting up,' Will said, taking a sip of juice. I nodded.

'I'll call if I need anything,' I said. Will grabbed his jacket from the hook next to the door and I heard the lock click behind him.

Suddenly there was a noticeable tremor in the ground, and my ears popped. Before everything went silent, I heard a scream from outside. I pushed my chair back and went to the window. No one was there, not that I could hear. Will's car was still there, rolling slightly down the slant of the driveway. Something smashed into my back- the kitchen bench met my stomach, and I fell to the ground winded. Is this discord? I wondered. How ironic, to be hit with a discord blast after finally coming home.

Someone was standing in front of me. Because of my sudden deafness, I couldn't tell if they were male or female, or anything about what they looked like. I cursed evolution for making us rely on music for identification. I could have used the ability to remember faces and bodies at that time. I felt them nudge my foot, and a piece of paper drifted to the ground beside me.

 _Are you Prisoner X-5839?_ , it asked. I nodded. That was my old prisoner number, so I assumed the X meant freed. But Mariachans in Theme? What was going on, and how had they gotten past the border patrols?

'Did you hurt Will?' I think I said. I couldn't even hear myself.

 _Your friend is fine. We have been told to inform you that you were lucky to be set free. Interfere any more and expect death._

'I haven't interfered at all!' I stated, confused. The boot came down on my arm, and I felt something snap, with a sharp and forceful jab of agony. I couldn't hear my own cry of pain. Whoever it was retreated and left me slumped against the kitchen bench, unconsciousness taking over slowly.


End file.
